


I Put a Spell on You

by playitagainsam



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, F/M, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2459714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playitagainsam/pseuds/playitagainsam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1960's AU.</p>
<p>  <i>“Looks like you need another,” he says, his voice low and a little too cool. She frowns, then realizes what he means as she looks back at her glass. It’s empty.</i></p>
<p>  <i>“Ah. I suppose you’re right,” she says after some hesitation. She turns to the barman, but he interrupts her before she could speak.</i></p>
<p>  <i>“Another one for her,” he says, the ‘r’s rolling off his tongue. “Put it on my tab.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I Put a Spell on You

**Author's Note:**

> Short 1960’s AU. Thought it would be nice to have the Doctor dressed like Randall Brown (from The Hour) and Clara looking all Holly Golightly-esque. Beta'd by the awesome [theyhadcookies](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theyhadcookies).

She sits alone at the bar, cigarette holder between her lips, red-painted fingernails tapping the counter. She swirls the contents of her glass with one hand, oblivious to the smeared wing tip of her eyeliner and smudged mascara. Nina Simone is onstage, and the audience listens to her with rapt attention.

“And now for the next song – “

The piano starts to play. Trembling red-tipped fingers take the cigarette holder away, and she blows a small puff of smoke. She runs her palm on the black cloth of her skirt across her lap and takes a long drink, the rim of the glass lingering in between her lips. She thinks of slamming doors, of angry shouts ringing through hallways, of too many nights spent crying and finally, a goodbye.

“ _I put a spell on you, ‘cause you’re mine…_ ”

“Is this seat taken?”

For a moment, she stops thinking. She stares into her glass, until the sound of someone clearing his throat makes her turn her head.

“Oh. No, it isn’t.”

He seats himself on the stool and leans forward, his elbows on the counter and his hands clasped before him. He speaks to the barman with a Scottish lilt in his voice.

“Glendronach. On the rocks.”

“ _You better stop the things you do, I ain't lyin', no I ain’t lyin’..._ ”

She traces the rim of her glass with her finger, back to staring into it. He glances at her, looks away, then looks back at her again. She looks up and catches him. His hair is grey, but his face looks younger than what he initially seems, the lines disappearing as he lowers his eyebrows. His blue eyes are set on her behind his horn-rimmed glasses, and as he twists his cufflinks she can see that he isn’t wearing a ring.

“Looks like you need another,” he says, his voice low and a little too cool. She frowns, then realizes what he means as she looks back at her glass. It’s empty.

“Ah. I suppose you’re right,” she says after some hesitation. She turns to the barman, but he interrupts her before she could speak.

“Another one for her,” he says, the ‘r’s rolling off his tongue. “Put it on my tab.”

She frowns again. “No, wait, you don’t have to –“

He raises his hand gently. “Allow me.” He gives her a small smile as the barman hands her another gin and tonic. She looks at the man beside her, and returns his smile. _Handsome_ , she thinks to herself. _Older, but those eyes_ –

“He must have been something,” he says, and takes a drink of his scotch. The cigarette holder almost falls from her fingers. She clutches her glass tightly.

“Sorry?”

“Whoever it was that made you come here on your own tonight. He must have been something.”

She feels almost offended, angry. She looks away and pretends to listen to Nina singing.

“ _I put a spell on you, because you're mine, you're mine…_ ”

“It’ll be all right.”

She turns back to look at him, not knowing what to say. Then she starts to speak. “Well now, you’re one nosy parker, aren’t you?”

He smirks behind the rim of his glass. “So I’ve been told.”

She shakes her head. “Look, it’s none of your business, so if you don’t mind I’d like to listen to Nina Simone now, thanks.”

He shrugs, leaning his side against the counter as he turns his body to face her. “Sorry.” He swirls the scotch in his glass as she swirls her own drink. His fingers are long, elegant. She thinks again about the absence of a ring as the saxophonist draws out a long solo.

“What about you, the missus know you’re here?”

He smirks again. “Not married.”

She smirks back. “Thought so.”

“Don’t think that’s any of your business either,” he replies, but he isn’t angry. His voice is too low and cool to be angry, almost a murmur. She knows that she probably shouldn’t, but she still turns her body to face him. They look at each other in silence, their lips curled into half smiles.

“I meant it when I said that it’ll be all right,” he says. She cocks an eyebrow and makes a sound, something like a scoff.

“Oh really, now?”

“Yes.”

He says it gently, his eyes softening. She pauses, surprised, and then she reverts to her frown.

“Why would it be? Because I’ll be coming home with you tonight?” she says snidely. He smirks and shakes his head.

“No, but that one’s entirely up to you.”

Her anger flares again. “You’re the third one tonight with that offer, and I’ve turned the others down, too. No thank you, I’m not interested.”

His expression shifts, his smirk softens. “Of course. But why are you still talking to me, then?”

She turns away as if to say, _not anymore_.

“ _I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you anyhow…_ ”

She can hear him shift in his seat to turn back to face the bar. She glances at him, and his eyes are closed as he listens to Nina singing. His eyebrows are low, and she knows then that there is some sadness there.

_“And I don't care if you don't want me, I'm yours right now…_ ”

“Was she something, too?” she asks him. He opens his eyes but keeps them on his glass.

“It was a long time ago,” he answers.

“So was mine.”

He looks at her. “I don’t think that’s true.”

She laughs, but it’s a harsh laugh. “No, it wasn’t. You’re right. But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

They turn their bodies to face each other again, and he watches her as she puts the cigarette holder back between her lips. He gazes at them, and by the expression on his face she can tell that he is thinking about how they would feel, on his own, or on someplace else. She crosses her legs tightly and arches her back. His eyes trace her spine. At that moment, she forgets about the slamming doors.

“ _You hear me, I put a spell on you…_ ”

“Listen, about that offer –“ she begins, but he licks his lower lip and interrupts again.

“I haven’t actually offered anything…” he murmurs, and his voice trails off. She leans in closely towards him, her breath hot on his cheek.

“ _Because you’re mine.._.”

“No, you haven’t. But I am.”

 


End file.
